


Daryl in Distress

by Higgystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kink meme: Someone wanted Daryl being hurt and having to be carried by a member of the group.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daryl in Distress

Honest to god he’d thought he was healed enough to go out on his own. Despite Carol’s words and him snapping at her in return he’d felt better and yeah sure his side still stung something awful when someone put pressure on it, but it wasn’t like walkers went for particular areas and he’d see them long before they got close enough to hurt him. Daryl had even been careful enough to stay closer to camp this time, he hadn’t gone nearly as far out and he’d even told them he was going to look.

Well okay, he’d mumbled it as he’d walked past Rick, but that counted right?

Either way he was fairly sure he could cope with a couple of hours walking through the woods and looking for Sophia. Who was he to complain about being a little hurt when the poor girl had been out there for so long? He knew he needed to stop being such a selfish prick and get looking properly, he’d found her doll and that was a good place to start.

The river wasn’t too big, barely even a stream really and he took the time to walk along the bank of it, checking for any signs of life. If what Shane had said was true and she’d dropped the doll only for it to get washed away, then maybe she’d dropped something else? Or maybe she was using the stream as her source of water and he’d find a trail from her somewhere along the ways.

It was something to hang onto at least and right now he’d take what he could. After a few hours he can feel his side beginning to ache, the stitches pulling at his skin a little and damn he even has to pause to catch his breath a moment to carry on. It shouldn’t hurt so bad, he’d dealt with worse for crying out loud, this should be nothing, just a few little stitches and heck he’d even had real medical stitches this time, not his own or Merle’s handiwork. Still the damn thing ached and he has to lean back against a tree and shimmy himself down to sit for a while.

He feels guilty for taking the time to do such a thing, Sophia was depending on him and here he was sitting as he was taking a fucking picnic, but damn each step was beginning to hurt more and he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should start heading back. But he remembers Carol’s face and he knows she cries every single night that Sophia isn’t there and fuck he wants to make that stop and prove himself as useful as well. He really was a selfish prick wasn’t he?

Sighing to himself he uses the tree to brace himself as he gets back up, gripping the bark with one hand and his crossbow with the other, squeezing his fingers into it to get out the wince of pain. The river continues flowing beside him, coursing over rocks, pushing past the banks and it’s in that moment he thinks he sees it. A scrap of cloth, light blue in colour and he swears, no he knows that’s the colour of Sophia’s shirt.

“Sophia!”

The pain disappears as he moves, slipping down the muddy bank a little ways until he’s on the rocks that line it, steadying himself on a large log that’s caught there to lower himself to the water’s edge. It hurts to lean over the log but he needs the extra sturdiness to know he wasn’t going to be slipping in anytime soon and besides he didn’t know what he was going to find.

Bracing himself for the worst he can see the scrap is caught on the edge, snagged between two rocks and the majority of it is caught beneath the surface of the water, leaving him unsure if it’s just a scrap or her entire shirt. Gritting his teeth he shoulders the bow, knowing he’d need both hands for this no matter what the outcome, but hoping it was because he’d need to just yank free the shirt and call for her a few more times. Maybe she’d left it here as a marker? A way to tell them she was near?

Taking a deep breath he stretches out further fingers brushing the fabric in the flow of the water and making him huff as he tries to get out a few more inches. His side burns a little as he leans over the log, not wanting to lose his footing and push his centre of balance too far forward lest he fall in and become another problem. It’s just enough and his finger curls about the fabric, getting just enough grip to yank at it, feeling the pull of it caught on something beneath the water. Daryl takes a breath before yanking again, feeling it shift just a little, enough for him to get enough strength to pull back some more on the blue fabric and he feels something give way beneath the water.

He’s about to sit back in success and drag whatever it was to him when an arm shoots out of the water, clawed fingers snatching at him, skin peeling away from bone and a mottled blue in colour. Jerking back he falls against the bank, grunting in pain as his back wound has pressure placed on it but unable to pay much attention when the drowned walker he’d managed to get loose catches some footing. The growl are waterlogged and it resembles a monster more than a human when it breaks the surface, scrabbling towards him and bloated, snarling with water leaking from the holes in its face from decomposing. It’s disgusting, it stinks of death and shit, and the fucking thing must have been wedged beneath the water for a long time judging by how desperately it claws to get to him.

Scrabbling back against the dirt he shoves his heels into the log he’d previously been over, using the sturdiness of it to push himself away up the bank, gasping as he feels something rip in his side. It’s a searing pain but he’s got bigger things to deal with as the walker stumbles closer, crawling at him, gurgled growls and fingernails snapping off as it claws at the ground. Daryl grabs for his knife, his fingers slippery from the water but clenched so tightly his grip doesn’t falter.

Bracing against the ground with one leg he kicks with the other, distracting the walker for enough time for him to move forward, digging the blade into its skull and hearing the sodden thump of its brain being pierced. It’s disgusting and when he pulls his blade out a piece of splintered skull and skin come away with it, making him gag at the stench before wiping it away. The current of the stream catches the walker’s now limp body, beginning to slowly drag it away in the water and leaving him panting for breath against the mud.

Shit he’s exhausted from such a simple fight, but his side feels on fire and when he glances down he can see the patch of red beginning to seep through his shirt, staining his side and leaving him swearing. Hershel was going to be pissed, the old man didn’t exactly like him much anyway after he’d gone and stolen his horse, honestly he wasn’t sure he’d even get his stitches redone this time.

Blinking up towards the top of the bank he gives a groan of anticipation of climbing the damned thing. Last time had been bad enough but now he was filthy, covered in wet mud and his own blood. “Piss off Merle.” He grunts to himself, not even wanting to wait around for his mind to bring his asshole brother into existence to spur him onwards. Rolling onto his front he grabs at the tufts of grass he can reach, using them to drag himself upwards and digging his feet into the mud as well as he can. He slips a few times, swears even louder and makes a little progress, still panting for air and feeling the added weight of his bow on his back dig in a little more with each moment.

“Holy shit what did you do to yourself now?”

Grimacing to himself he almost lets go of his handholds to slide back down to the river, not willing to deal with Shane and his oh so helpful self right now when he was feeling like shit. Instead he continues trying to drag himself upwards, doing a great impersonation of the walker from before and gritting his teeth when Shane’s hands grab at his arm pits, sliding him not only up the bank but heaving him onto his unsteady feet as well. Daryl goes to shoves himself away but his feet are a little unsteady and Shane doesn’t let him go as he looks him over. “’m fine.” He huffs, wishing his side would just stop feeling as if there were fingers prying it open from the inside. “Just tired is all.”

“And bleeding.” Shane adds with a snort, still keeping him upright as if he were a toddler learning to take their first steps. God he wants to punch the man in the nose, but he’s not sure he could manage that when he’s beginning to feel a little woozy. Shit, maybe he’d lost more blood than he thought. “Shit man that’s a lot of blood, you gonna be able to walk back?”

He grunts out a positive and moves to grip at the strap of his bow across his chest, giving him something to hang onto as he pushes himself free of Shane’s grip and takes a few steps back towards the farm. “Said ‘m fine.” Even if he doesn’t feel it right now he’s not going to give in, not to this man. His head is throbbing again, the results of a concussion making him feel a little queasy and lightheaded at the worst moments. “Just a little woozy is all.”

Shane grabs at his bow and hell if he had the strength and it didn’t make his head spin to move so fast, he’d punch him for that. As it is he can barely lash out when the other man removes the bow from his back, instead slipping it over his own shoulder. “You look as if you’re about to fall over man.” Well that was encouraging and what exactly did Shane expect him to do about that anyway? Wasn’t like he could just fly back to the fucking farm.

When his feet go out from beneath him honestly he just waits for the pain of his body hitting the ground and instead is met with the warmth of another body against his. It takes a moment for his throbbing head to work out exactly what had happened and when he does he’s not happy. “Put me down!” He hisses, wincing as his headache worsens but not stopping himself from squirming in Shane’s arms. “I ain’t no princess for you to rescue.”

“Nah princesses are better looking.” Shane smirks and Daryl swears he’s enjoying this, cradling him and jostling him just enough that he has to loop his arms about Shane’s neck to not slip so much. “Stop squirming would you? Unless you want both of us on our asses.” The other man grumbles and fuck he feels ridiculous right now; if he hadn’t lost so much blood he’s sure he’d be blushing right now.

“I can walk, I don’t need your help.” He grumbles, even if his side feels better now he’s not moving himself, just sore from the pressure of Shane’s body against it, but definitely better than before. It’s not like he’s going to be telling Shane that anyway.

“Bullshit.” Shane sighs and Daryl wonders exactly how the other man is doing this so easily. Surely he wasn’t that light? And Shane couldn’t be that strong? Even if the other man had a habit of walking around shirtless and showing off. Pathetic. Only Andrea ever seemed impressed anyway. “You popped your stitches and Rick’ll kill me if he knows you got by me and then went and died on my watch.”

Snorting a little he doesn’t squirm so much but he does let go of Shane’s neck to fold his arms against his chest, letting Shane see that he still wasn’t happy with this situation. “You Rick’s bitch now?” He asks, not caring if he’s mocking the man who’s currently carrying him through the woods and away from potential serious injury.

For what it’s worth Shane doesn’t drop him to the floor and leave his worthless ass there, instead he shifts him a little higher, making him hiss in pain as he tightens his grip. “No, just your nanny apparently. We need to get some of those kiddies reigns for you. Might stop you wandering off all the time and getting yourself in trouble.” Shane grumbles, crunching through the leaves like an elephant and Daryl wonders if any of these people know how to be quiet.

“Gonna put me in a time out too?” And he’s not sulking, there’s just not much he can do when he felt like this, tired, aching and with his head throbbing in time with his pulse. Groaning a little in discomfort he lets his head fall to Shane’s shoulder, not caring what he looks like for the moment when he wants to just have this all be over. He feels drained and when they finally hit the edge of camp he knows he must look a fool held in Shane’s arms, sulking like a child and unable to do anything about it. “Fuck just hurry it up, don’t need everyone staring.”

Shane chuckles, and doesn’t speed up his pace in the slightest and Daryl swears he walks them straight through the centre of their camp, making sure everyone can see him like this. He grits his teeth and though he knows Shane can feel the tension in his body he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. And of course Rick is there, looking worried and pissed off all at once, making him huff a little in response as the two of them talk as if he’s not even there.

“Where did you find him? How badly is he hurt?”

“Down by the creek, went and popped his stitches and I think the concussion from before is messing with his head.”

“Let’s get him to Hershel, he’ll need to be sewn up again. Need me to take him?”

“Nah I got him, lead the way.”

Daryl slumps a little in Shane’s grip, arms still folded in anger, watching his feet in the air and bounce with each of Shane’s steps to stop himself from watching the house get nearer and the reactions of everyone else. If he wasn’t feeling so bad he’d jump out of Shane’s grip right now and march into the house, as it is he simply scowls a little more and huffs, letting him know his displeasure over the situation. “I really hate you all. I’m not a fucking kid.”

“Really? Because you sound like you need a nap.” Shane chuckles and this time Daryl finds the strength to knock that fucking baseball cap off his head.


End file.
